


All the Places to Love You

by CrownandAntler



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Creampie, Cunnilingus, Domestic Fluff, Dry Humping, Established Relationship, F/M, Finger Sucking, Fluff, More tags to be added, Oral Sex, Outdoor Sex, Romance, Simon is the best boy, Smut, Sweet, Vaginal Sex, a pure cinnamon roll, too good too pure
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-15
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-06-27 14:45:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15687534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrownandAntler/pseuds/CrownandAntler
Summary: There are a lot of places in this world to share your love with someone.





	1. The Kitchen - Simon

**Author's Note:**

> I can't bring myself to write the words cunt or pussy in smut. A fault I need to work on hah.
> 
> Comments encouraged! Constructive criticism appreciated! Requests welcome!
> 
> I now have a tumblr writing blog, crownandwriter, feel free to chat and request there!

Early morning sunlight bleeds into the kitchen from the window over the sink, swathing you in tinges of gold as you scrub quietly at the dishes. The coffeemaker at the other end of the counter steams and burbles as it brews, bleeding the scent past all the doorways. The balcony door slides shut in the living room and the footsteps of your housemate pad all the way to the kitchen counter behind you without a word said.

You don't need to turn and look at him; the calming aura he always manages to emit is enough. Instead you just listen to him work with a smile, to the rhythmic glace of the knife on the counter, the click of a pan on the stove top, the further pad of his bare feet and the fridge door opening and closing. When only silence follows from that distance, your hands slow to a stop too. Peeking over your shoulder reveals him finally: Simon, one hand on the door handle of the fridge while his eyes hold your figure as if in a daze. The corner of your mouth only manages a quirk of a smile before he catches you looking back and averts his eyes.

“Something on your mind?” you ask, teasing but honestly curious.

His expression remains flustered, but the widening of his eyes eases to something more natural. The twirling light at his temple flashes yellow at the same tempo his eyelashes flutter, mouth still slightly agape like the words are stuck in his throat. He finally manages to clear it after a moment, and fixes you with a soft smile.

“Just...the way the light is hitting you.” You can't help the tilt of your head and the wide grin that splits your face when he says those words.

Simon had always been sweet, even from the moment you welcomed him into your home. Markus had set the whole thing up, you having been a family friend of Carl's since your toddler days, but it was Simon's character that solidified your decision to take him as a housemate. That was almost a year ago. Now, Simon is more than a helpful body in your space. Not quite something either of you have put a name to yet, but precious all the same. Moments like these grow more and more frequent, to the point that they now seep into even this simple, ritualistic morning routine of Simon making you breakfast while you wash the dished from the previous night's dinner.

Simon is the one to break the stillness brought on your thinking. He walks back to the counter adjacent to you, setting eggs and milk down next to the diced tomatoes he had picked from the balcony's small garden. It feels wrong to leave his admission hanging in the air like that, especially when it had been born of something as rapturous as awe. Before he can pick up his knife again, you reach out and take his hand softly. Your thumb presses into the soft palm of his hand where tendon would be on a human and find his hand still curls with the gentle pressure regardless. The shy smile that was still on his face is replaced by curious shock, however he does not protest. Not when you bring his hand to your face and kiss each knuckle, not when you run the tip of your nose over the underside of his wrist, and not when you step in and kiss his cheek suddenly. He huffs, embarrassed but overjoyed, kisses the corner of your mouth in return.

“I meant it,” he says with his nose touching yours. “I don't know about angels at all but, rA9 when you stand in front of the sunrise like that it's like....”

He trails off like he doesn't have any breath for the weight of the words. Like he needs the air.

You cup his jaw and bring him in for a kiss, a real kiss, not really soft but full of a passion you hope matches his. Your hands are still damp from the sink, but Simon doesn't seem to mind as he cards his fingers into your hair, nails running along your scalp in a way that makes your entire skull tingle and spin. A small moan slips from your throat—it shouldn't. It was just a kiss and he shouldn't be able to do these things to you with just a kiss.

Your lower back hits the edge of the sink. Simon had edged you backwards with baby steps, his other hand now at your hip, clenching the material of your long skirt, tongue dancing against yours. When had he coaxed his way in?

He only manages to kiss you this way for a few more moments before your hand pushes gently on his chest, moving him back just far enough for you to breathe. Somehow he manages to look sorry and not at all at the same time. There's a glimmer in his expression, a twitch of his lips that makes you think maybe he'll lean back in, but he appears to think better of it.

Then he suddenly dives for your cheeks.

The fit of giggles his onslaught brings about doesn't help your breathlessness, the dozens of little kisses across your cheeks and nose and forehead drawing out your joy in tiny, rapid bubbles and peals of laughter. As Simon descends to your jawline, your ears, your neck, your excitement only increases. Now you're squirming against him, reacting to all the little tickles of his neatly-combed hair against your earlobe and the synthetic breaths puffing out with each of his own chuckles. He doesn't stop until your wiggles knock a pan from the counter where it had been drying—the clatter of copper against tile startling both of you from the shared reverie. He grins brightly, shaking despite himself, watching you giggle and catch your breath with your elbows braced back against the sink.

“I've got it,” he says, just out of habit, and kneels to grab the pan.

You only notice after a few more moments that he hasn't stood back up. Glancing down revealed Simon gazing up at you with that same look as before, but now his crystal eyes were aglow with the refection of the very light you knew shone from behind your figure, now his cheeks were tinged with blue, now his lips were wet and sultry and his chest heaved with more of that air he didn't need. Evidently, he had enough of it now to finish his earlier thought.

“...it's like you're the entire world.”

Your breath catches in your throat. There's a pause where you wonder if he can see the happy tears welling up in the corners of your eyes or the blush you can feel boiling under your cheeks, but any care for that is tossed out the window when he takes your bare foot by the heel and kisses your ankle softly. Simon's eyes catch yours, asking for silent permission, begging, and when you don't stop him he drops the pan and teases the hem of your loose summer skirt with his other hand, pushing it up slowly as his lips trail farther and farther up your leg. At your thigh, he drops the skirt over his head to hide him from your burning, desperate gaze. You're not sure if it's out of shyness or a desire to tease you. The tongue and teeth, the open-mouthed kisses now pinching at the inside of your thigh tell you the answer doesn't matter. The sucking next to the seam of your panties sends all coherent words retreating back down your throat. Simon's hands glide up your legs only to draw your panties back down with them. You scarcely manage to step out of them.

Simon nuzzles against the newly exposed humid flesh, leaving feathery kisses against your lips, and you raise one leg instinctively to grant him a greater ease of access. He's quick to follow the movement, drawing your knee to rest against his shoulder. But as soon as you think it's safe to feel comfortable Simon grabs your other leg and easily lifts it to his other shoulder. It's difficult to find balance perched on him by your shins, but you only flounder for a moment before Simon easily adjusts you how he likes, hands gentle and soft in how they manhandle you atop of him. Your knees slide farther back, drop, until you're hanging on him by only the curve of your ankles and feet at the apex of his shoulders, with his face pressed so assuredly between your legs he might not have been able to move if he wanted. He didn't want to, if the way his hands massage your ass cheeks is anything to go by. Simon's thumbs move down, brushing feather-light over your sex, then spread you open so that the first instance his tongue touches you it reaches deep enough to send a loud keen propelling out of your open mouth.

Your body melts against the counter and his body, but can't remain that way for the precise swiping of Simon's tongue has your muscles twitching with each jolt of pleasure. His tongue curls inside you a few times and he swallows what heat pools into his mouth. The way he's moaning—you'd think your positions were reversed. And when he finally slides his tongue up, softly kissing and licking shapes into your clit like he's painting some kind of masterpiece, you can't stand to just dart your eyes over the ceiling anymore. A deft hand grabs a bunch of your skirt, careful of Simon's hair, and pulls it forcefully up to your stomach. Simon doesn't seem startled by the reveal, but the shock of lust that hits your pelvis when you see the pleasure contorting his usually peaceful expression is the most wonderful sort of startling. The amount of blue spread across his face, you think, might even be greater than the red on your own. His hair mussed, fluttering eyes wet, the glisten of your own arousal on his upper lip and the tip of his nose, he's the very definition of alluring.

He sucks deftly at your clit again, startling a loud moan from you. Your hips buck forward, try as you might to hold still for him, and the force of the desperate motion rocks him backwards a bit. Instead of being at all put-off by it, Simon moans loudly, lecherously into you, and comes at you with even more hunger than before. His fingers dig into your ass and hips just a moment, pulling, urging you to repeat the motion. You do with vigor, moaning and cooing “Simon—Simon! Oh, Simon,” with each rock. One of his hands moves down to stroke along your folds. While the second hand remains to support your weight, he slips two fingers easily into you and pumps without hesitation—the wet sounds of his fingering and scissoring igniting him to rumble a hot purring noise that shoots directly up your spine. 

It turns out to be your undoing because the next moment your have his head clamped tightly between your quivering legs, rolling your body down onto his tongue and fingers as you clench and spasm through the tidal wave of your orgasm. Simon doesn't slow his ministrations in the slightest the entire time. It isn't until your arched back relaxes against the counter and your legs release him that his pace begins to wane. His eyes are deceptively calm when he licks one last, long stripe against you, and when he pulls away you can see how flushed his is with blue blood—even his neck and ears tinged with it. His chest rises and falls with heavy breaths but the arm supporting you never wavers with exhaustion. Slowly, his fingers slide out of you, he kisses your thigh softly and you feel overheated despite never having lifted a finger the entire time. Slowly, Simon removes your legs, carefully grasping your hips while your muscles recover.

The room is spinning, but now Simon is close and you see his face illuminated, eyes glowing in the same gold light he beheld you in before.

“I get it,” you whisper, breathy, swallowing lust-induced saliva. You manage to grab a towel, wet it under the faucet, and gently wipe his smile clean. “It's the same for me, Simon.”  
You kiss him, slow and deliberate, not heated and desperate but as two souls connected since the beginning of time would. He hums against you, tucking hair behind your ear without pulling away, and holds you close in the light of the new day.


	2. The Lake - Rupert

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rupert needs more love, honestly. He's one of my favorite characters!
> 
> My tumblr writing blog, crownandwriter, is officially open for requests and matchups. Feel free to swing by and say hi!
> 
> Comments encouraged! Constructive criticism appreciated! Requests welcome!

Since the successful—and peaceful—end of the android uprising, Rupert had been faithfully working on reintroducing himself to society. You had been the selfless human who helped him escape the police, who helped him reach safety in Jericho, and who offered him sanctuary in the aftermath. You were the _only_ human he fully trusted, but at your bidding had been working hard to acclimate himself to the humans who remained in Detroit, the ones who were largely tolerant of free androids.

In an effort to reward him for the long months of dedicated effort, the two of you paid a visit to your parents' remote lake cabin, where you spent your days hiking and birdwatching in blissful solitude. He was more at peace here than you'd seen him in a long time, eyes up towards the sky, the rustling trees, the sounds of nature, instead of down at busy city pavement and hidden under the bill of his baseball cap. There was a calm smile on his lips, a youthful crinkle to his eyes, and the most wonderful tranquil looseness in his usually tense posture.

Even now, he's content, slumped against and tangled in the rungs of the dock's ladder like some sort of ivy. Somehow you'd gotten him out of that jacket, leaving his physique more visible to your roaming eyes. His feet are the only part of him in the water—being made of metal and plastic has him hesitant to risk sinking—but he's enjoying the lounging nonetheless, eyes closed, lips quirked in a soothed smile. The gentle spring breeze teases the strands of hair escaping under the rim of his cap, his fingers rubbing over his biceps soothingly like a mantra. You've been swimming around the lake for close to half an hour now and with his inability to sleep it seems a wonder he hasn't up and left out of boredom.

The slosh of the water as you swim gives away your approach. When you're close enough Rupert's eyes flutter open, immediately fixing you with his intense chocolate browns. He stretches and shifts a bit, but doesn't lift his head from the comfortable pillow of his folded arms.

“Getting hungry?” he asks quietly. Rupert can't really cook, but he's been learning just for you.

Your legs slip through a ladder rung just below the surface of the water so you can sit comfortably with your chin resting on his leg. “I could go for a snack,” you say coyly.

Rupert's soft lips part just enough for you to catch the gleam of his teeth, eyes locked to yours while he thinks, tries to decipher your words. Sometimes you're unsure if he has trouble understanding you because of his android model; agricultural units rarely came with any sort of social algorithms. But Rupert was also just cautious about speaking, always soft-spoken and careful with his word choice, even with you.

“What do you have in mind?” When his words are finally out, you can't help but notice how strained they seem in his already soft tone.

Your simple response is to kiss his knee and watch his eyes widen. Blue quickly blooms across his cheeks. He buries his chin farther into the nest of his arms, maybe to hide the nervous but electric smile he tends to pull when you seek to give him any sort of pleasure. The first few instances of sexual exploration had been awkward, a little uncomfortable, but exhilarating. For him moreso than you. After all, sex was yet another thing he hadn't been programmed to experience. Now, just the thought of physical affection with you makes him giddy, even if he never wanted to say it out loud. And frankly, the special upgrade had cost too much to not get so much use.

“Let me see your hand.” You can't fight the cheeky, teasing grin while you implore him. Rupert shifts a little, eyes darting to the water shyly before he slowly unfolds one hand from the upper rung he occupies and legs it dangle down in front of you. Something like understanding gleams in his eyes when they flicker back to you, but the anticipation doesn't prevent the small gasp when you lick his fingers. You're sure to be slow about it, sensual, tongue tracing over the back of each finger, then curling around his thumb and bringing it into your mouth to suck on it. Rupert shutters at the feeling, eyes screwing shut as if in pain, but his fingers and thumb daringly pinch the hollow of your cheek, feeling the give and texture of inner versus outer flesh. When he opens his eyes again, he's more determined, takes his thumb from you and instead presses his fore and middle finger to your lips. There's absolutely no hesitation as you take them next, licking, sucking, scissoring your hot tongue between his fingers and loving the way it makes his breath sputter and hitch.

Your hands occupy themselves on his thighs, rubbing up an down the expanse of them. His knees quiver slightly on either side of you, and you can see the beginnings of arousal straining against his jeans. By the time you reach for his zipper, there's a thin line of drool running down your chin and plenty more slicking Rupert's fingers. Not that he minds, eyes intently locked on the display.

When you pull the tab of his fly down, there's no hindrance of undergarments, just Rupert's cock falling gracefully into your hand. The sight of it draws a guttural, eye-fluttering moan from you, which causes Rupert to shutter and his dick to twitch in your hand, which causes you to such harder on his fingers, which brings forth further reactions from him—a domino effect of arousal caused by one decision to forgo underwear.

Rupert knows what you plan the moment you pull your mouth away from his hand. He can't bring himself to look for some reason, already wonderfully overwhelmed by just the pressure of your groping hand around his full girth, and gives a lurch when your lips suddenly kiss up his shaft. Gentle but quivering with excitement and whatever the Android equivalent of adrenalin may be, he threads his fingers into your wet hair. He knows how this part goes, it's one of his favorites, and wants desperately to push himself all the way down your throat. But he can't. Not yet, he doesn't want to choke you. Even if the feeling of you sucking and licking at the head of his cock like a lollipop is spinning his processors in delirious circles.

Swallowing him is a slow process. There's always a part of you that's afraid of frying his circuits with pleasure—imagine explaining that to the repair technicians at Cyberlife. So you work him slowly down your throat with gentle bobs of your head, inch by inch, until your nose is pressed snugly against the synthetic skin of his pelvis. You take a moment there, breathe through your nose, exhale slowly.

Rupert whimpers above you. “Please...rA9, please move.”

And you do. You draw all the way back, leaving just the tip of him in your mouth, slurp messily, then swallow him entirely again. Rupert moans in earnest at the pace you set. Never has he been dishonest about how good you make him feel, neither in his noises nor his actions: The whimpers, groans, pleas, his lips apart and quivering, unsure of whether to bite them or not, his eyes fluttering but remaining firmly locked with yours. This man is leaving you soaked with more than just lake water.

His fingers twitch and curl in your hair, fisting it loosely, and you suck him more vigorously at the silent signal. The corners of Rupert's mouth quirk, his adam's apple bobs with a pronounced swallow. He shifts on the ladder, plants his feet a little more firmly on the lower bar, raises his hips the slightest. The ladder _tings_ as he slaps his hand a little too hard against it for a momentum grip.

“Can I?” He sounds desperate. It's adorable and sexy and makes stars fire across your vision when his tone reaches your ears. “Please, can I?”

You reach up with one hand to press his more firmly against your head. That motion, and the hum of approval deep in your throat is all Rupert needs before he starts to push and pull you, to thrust himself in and out of your mouth. He's careful at first, shallow, gentle, and you do your best to meet every withdrawal with an intense suck or swipe of your tongue against the head of his cock. He's quickly losing himself to the feeling of your mouth, the vibrations of your moans, the power in your eyes that makes him feel like his wires are starved of electricity. This must be what swimming feels like, he thinks, or drowning, rather. But in the most wonderful way.

Rupert's head snaps back suddenly--the synthetic skin on his knuckles fades away from how tightly he grips the ladder--and keens loud desperate moans that echo and bounce off the underside of the pier. The bland artificial cum that shoots into your mouth and throat causes no discomfort or displeasure. You swallow it easily, even around the final erratic thrusts of Rupert's twitching cock. He moans even after it's finished, still hanging back like a man only half alive.

He's still recovering, but now you're desperate, both hands skimming wantonly over his body while you haul yourself farther up the ladder. Rupert's eyes drag over your body, flushed and dazed, but his cock is still standing at attention.

You ask him, breathily, “Can you go again, baby?” You're already working your bikini bottoms down your legs, ready to ride him there on the ladder. Only when he understands your intention does he reach forward and grab your elbow like a lifeline.

“Not here! Go—go up. Go up, I don't want this _thing_ in the way,” he says and slaps the rung of the ladder again for emphasis. Rupert fixes his jeans and untangles himself from the ladder faster than you do, pressing his mouth tightly against yours only for as long as it takes to grab your ass and pull your bottoms back up. “Let's go inside—there's a whole vacation house to christen.”

You giggle and race him across the pier.


	3. The Bedroom - Daniel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments encouraged! Constructive criticism appreciated! Requests welcome!
> 
> Find me at crownandwriter on tumblr to chat, make a request, or submit for a matchup!
> 
> EDIT: I JUST REALIZED I LEFT OUT THE FIRST FIVE FUCKING PARAGRAPHS FOR THIS CHAPTER PLEASE FORGIVE ME I SKIMPED YALL ON THE FEELS OH MY GOD

After months of tension, it seemed like Daniel was finally coming around. In earnest, this time. With his physical recovery had come a tentative trust. Trust for you, the one who had overseen his repair and rehabilitation. For the human who offered him a home that was as much his as yours, rather than just a space he was permitted to use. A tentative friendship between housemates, sometimes touch-and-go, but one with patience given and forgiveness received. But now—this was a whole new step in your relationship together.

A house, all your own. A property. Not an apartment in the busy city, where so many things could go wrong, where Daniel sat by the window to read but never looked settled. When you couldn't hear a gunshot over the bustle of cars at any given moment. This—this wasn't just a house. It was a home. And it included Daniel.

He had always assumed that, given the opportunity, you'd move on with your life. He'd have to find another home, another purpose and friend. But when you'd found the listing just on the outskirts of town—asked for his _opinion_ on it....

Things changed. In a way you hadn't entirely come to understand.

There was no more tension. No more subconscious fear. The last wall between the two of you was gone, and you could tell it so clearly, watching from the door frame as Daniel unboxed and stocked the shelves in his new library. For the first time since before the two of you had met, he was...at peace. Maybe not with himself or what he had been through, but with this lot in life.

 

It takes almost an entire week to unpack everything in the house. Daniel is more work-efficient than you are with the unboxing, but what takes so long isn't  _your_  things, it's  _his_.  _His_  things that  _he_  gets to choose where to put.  _Feng shui_  is all fine and dandy but faced with the options, well. It's a hurdle that takes some planning and maneuvering.

And you're there to watch the entire time. Never to interrupt or tell Daniel what to do. Only offering ideas when asked. Just watching, observing, smiling softly at the view of Daniel living like any other man, so handsome and now so free.

Today isn't the first time he's caught you doing it. Staring, daydreaming about him. But it is the first time you have to turn away when his widened eyes find yours, both of you abashed. The stupid, giddy grin on your face is so stubborn you have to walk away.

You don't hear the bare pad of his feet following you down the hallway until you're in your room.

The bedroom door scarcely touches the frame before Daniel's foot collides loudly with it, launching it back into the wall and vibrating the wood all the way to the hinges. The noise startles you, causes a violent lurch in your chest and you spin, only to be swept into a hard, hot kiss. Daniel's arms pin you to him, one wrapped around the back of your head, clutching your far shoulder, keeping your face pressed to his by the strength of his forearm. The other hand ghosts down your spine and presses burning fingertips against your tailbone.

“You think you can look at me like that--” he breathes, nearly growls, eyes dark and scowling but blush spread across his face. “Think you can look at me like that all day and  _not_ —not kill me inside?” The kiss is so desperate, so close it almost hurts, synthetic lips against tender flesh, gnashing teeth and tongues just glancing together with words spewing forth in sob-like gasps. “Look at me so sweetly--!” A fist at your hip, trying to pull you impossibly closer, to make you one. “Like you  _love_  me--!” Daniel's feet move forward, pedaling yours back, back, until your knees hit the bed.

Daniel tears himself away from the kiss suddenly, holding you too close to let you drop to the mattress.

“Stop me—if I'm stupid or wrong or broken—stop me!” He's so desperate in how he looks into your eyes. The blue is gone from his irises, it seems. They're clouded with troubles, hidden behind confusion and turmoil. “If you don't love me, then—But, God,  _please_  love me.”

“I do, Daniel,” you manage, interjecting. You don't notice you're crying until one of his hands comes up and swipes the tears away before they're even down the expanse of your cheeks. He doesn't speak again, too enraptured with the flood coming from your lips. “I love you. I love you, Daniel. I'm never letting you go, Daniel. I'm yours. You're mine. You're mine, right?”

“I'm yours.” He kissed you again, softer, more tender, but still burning with a passion that threatened to overtake you. “Always. Please, I love you,  _please_.”

“I love you, Daniel.” You'll say it to him as many times as it takes. As often as he needs to hear it. Against him, like this, muffled by his lips, or far apart, yelled from the rooftops of Detroit.

Finally, he tips the pair of your bodies back, locked in another passionate kiss, so you land in a weak bounce against the mattress. Your hands are all over him, on top of his at your cheek, in his hair, across his back, tense at his sides, cupping his elbows trying to bleed his body and yours together. It doesn't feel wrong to be this way so suddenly. In fact, it feels silly, looking back, for this friendship of yours to have taken so long to boil over, down into the heat of whatever this was that lay beyond it. Whatever this was, whatever name you gave it, none of it mattered. Especially not while his lips and tongue were searing along yours.

Daniel's body is flush against yours, just a hair from too heavy, but so hot,  _hot_ , was he overheating? Were you? Or was this burning passion igniting the very particles of air trying to slip between the two of you? He is cooing your name, you realize. You gulp down the air you had forgotten you needed and blink the rose-colored fog from your eyes. The syllables tumble from his lips and you're so drunk off of them, off his voice right at your ear, and off the hands pulling slowly at your shirt. The air rushing under your clothes cools the heat that seems to be ever boiling under your skin, and suddenly the both of you are wearing far, far too much. Daniel kisses all over your face and neck, lips quivering with soft praises and promises, the pressure and intensity varying with each unpredictable expression of adoration. Your fingers can't undo the buttons of his shirt fast enough.

His hands pull your top off, then he leans back far enough for you to gently shrug his off his shoulders—and enjoy the slow reveal of lean, toned torso that comes with it. He undoes his trousers without removing them and slowly settles back down against you. With each inch of his bare body that comes into contact with yours, you can feel the coals in your nerves ignite into flames. You gasp at the sensation, at the push of certain  _hardware_  grinding between your legs, at the tongue tip lecherously tracing the shell of your ear and the deep moan that follows it. One of Daniel's hands kneads reverently at your chest, slipping long fingers under the cups of your bra to pinch at your nipples. The other slides down to your hips to fist at the waistband of your shorts, pulling, encouraging you to reciprocate the zealous grinding of his pelvis against yours. The moans being driven out of you are so powerful you can scarcely manage to get your shaking legs around the crest his hips. The angle between the two of your sliding bodies changes just enough for sparks to arc inside your belly. That intensity, and the still-burning heat rolling over your skin is all too much. Daniel can see the crest of your pleasure approaching and pushes himself up on extended arms so he can watch you as he rolls against your clothed sex, the tempo consistent, perfect, pistoning you to heights unbelievably delirious for just  _dry-humping_. Daniel's expression mimics yours as you fall victim to the first burst of overwhelming pleasure, his words following your thrusts and twitches instinctively--”Yes, yes, there you are, look at you, yes,  _so good._ ”

Meanwhile you're left helpless to wave after wave of overwhelming pulses pushed into you by Daniel's ceaseless movement, clutching his biceps for dear life while you sing his name as loudly as you can.

He doesn't stop, even after your orgasm has passed. His hands pry your clenching thighs off his hips only long enough to drop his pants to his knees and pull your panties aside, and then he's against you, grinding his bare erection against your clit, up and down the length of you, and pushing in with almost no resistance. Once sheathed to the hilt, Daniel laid down against you once more, marveling at the rise and fall of your chest against him, your moan-laced breaths, the burn of your hot skin, the wonderful expression  _he_  was putting on your face. Your legs fall around him again, arms looped around his neck to keep the bridge of his nose pressed so firmly to yours there can be no doubt this is real—this is real, you're both here, and this is Daniel kissing your lips and repeating “I love you, I love you” at each wet drive of his perfect cock into your heat.

It feels like you can't breathe. No matter how much air you get, it isn't enough to cool the wildfires feeding off of one another in each of your bodies. Up close you can see the details of Daniel's face flushed with blue blood—the artistically rendered pores of skin, the worry lines in his brow, each beautiful, individual strand of hair, his eyelashes, the shocking ice of his irises that feels like the only thing keeping you from burning up into ash at his every touch. You coo his name with the short breaths you can find, and he reciprocates each tiny cry with assurances and declarations of love.

“I'm here,” he says, pausing his thrusts to grind into you.

“I love you,” he gasps, thrusting more quickly, more shallowly, more desperately.

“ _You're mine_ ,” he growls, biting along the rim of your jaw just forcefully enough to make you cry out in amazed pleasure.

He manages to hold out long enough for your to cry his name a second time, still sensitive from your first orgasm and now shuttering with every minuscule movement of Daniel pounding into you as if his life depended on it. He comes not long after you do, a loud gasp into your jaw, followed by a long, drawn-out, sob of a moan that doesn't fit the furious momentum he hasn't let go of. His cum spills into you, out of you and still he doesn't stop.

Until all at once he does, buried deep inside and holding you in his arms so lovingly you wonder whether his soul has finally become one with your own. You're a panting mess and now you're certain Daniel is overheating. His kisses you slowly, lovingly, on your forehead, nose, and lips. Tears are in his eyes but have not fallen.

“You love me,” he breathes, an affirmation, a prayer.

“I love you, Daniel.”


End file.
